(Written August 2, three days ago):
I’m turned on. I admit it.
Most middle age women keep that thing sort of quiet, you
know. But, keeping ‘quiet’ has been the problem, so getting turned on will
change all THAT!! … Just a little lame cochlear implant humor. I’m sure I will
be able to come up with plenty more once I am feeling humorous again. Right now, the afternoon after my morning
activation, humor is not at the top of my list.
It’s a Process they tell me.
I KNOW about processes… they require patience! and fortitude! and hope!
and waiting! and humor! and prayer! They also require support from others and
I’m more than a little grateful that I’ve been the recipient of love and care
from all over. Only one of my friends can REALLY relate to the strangeness that
the beginning of the Process threw at me this morning. But, ONE is better than
none. It’s a total God – Story that my CI wearing friend Wendy is in my life.
She was also the one who finally pushed me over edge to take this plunge. I’m not
sure anyone else was truly qualified, though some tried. Regardless, here I am. Bionic.
Some people have a misunderstanding that getting a CI will
restore lost hearing and that magically, one will ‘hear again.’ That’s not
exactly true. In fact, the only part that is true is that one will hear something again, but it’s nothing like
normal hearing. Some day, as the Process continues, I may actually feel as though I have almost normal
hearing. After all, our nerves and
brains are marvelous creatures, even for the middle aged. And, our mind is happy to trick us sometimes
too… and sometimes it is OK to be
tricked. Other times….well, that’s a different story.
Right now, there is no denying that ‘normal hearing’ is NOT
part of the deal with a CI. My audiologist (I am learning that the term ‘audi’
is what CI wearers prefer to say, can I adjust to that too?!) took me through
the standard routine… raise your hand when you hear a sound or feel
something. I did hear sounds. That’s
good--it’s working. Then she went through the same sounds asking for the level
at which I perceived them, from ‘barely’ to ‘too loud’. They were all set at my determined level of ‘medium.’
Soon thereafter was the moment of activation.
Before I say more. I’ve been trying to discern my feelings
about heading into that moment as I’ve watched the date grow closer. Fear? Not
exactly. Anxiety? Some. Excitement? None. Apprehension? That’s the best one. I was feeling wary of
the coming unknown and having to 100% rely on the stories and best guesses of
others. Everyone’s hearing journey is
different, so even with preparation, it’s ours alone. No CI tour guide to lead
me on the exact path. I have a direction in which to head and then must find my
way alone. Sort of. (Sartre, anyone? Or no one, as the case may be?)
I need a chocolate break.
So, what did it sound like? The moment of activation, with
my audi having set my tones to respond to my determination of ‘soft’ and
‘medium’ was, well… horrifying!
Bombarded by all sorts of unearthly electronic beeps and echoes and
swirling noises, I took off my glasses prepared to burst into the tears I felt
coming. (Is THIS what I signed up for? THIS is what a CI sounds like? Get. Me. Out. Of. Here!!) My husband could
see that response in me, but the audi wasn’t attuned to it. I couldn’t even really tell her what I was
hearing it was so awful. (An aside,
unlike many CI recipients, I have only gone one short month without hearing
anything on that side. My old hearing aid wasn’t great, but I still had sound
coming in. I think that matters in my
perception.) Soon, thankfully, I was able to suggest dialing down the high
frequencies and tried my best to help describe the sounds entering my brain. No
easy task.
I am still trying. I’m an artist, so the things that come to
my mind are visual responses to the auditory stimuli. How strange is that? Strange, I know. But I’m going to go there
anyway. It’s like electronic sounds
swirling into mid air. It’s like sounds and frequencies jumping on a trampoline--jumping
on a trampoline in a padded room where they sometimes hit the wall or ceiling
and bounce back again. Hard. It’s like your neighbor slamming a door or ringing
a dinner bell (yea, right!) at the end of a long tunnel. A tunnel that echoes
like crazy. It’s like living inside a computer terminal and we all know what
that’s like, don’t we?! Those are descriptors for random sounds. I have no idea
if they are actually connected to sounds in the environment or not as I have no
clue from where the sounds originate. Maybe it’s the sound of my blood
flowing!! However, some of those sounds (at appropriate moments) are when I am
peeing. I already told you I am turned on. This should not come as a
surprise. I haven’t heard myself pee in
years. If I can hear that on day one, level one, I’m a little worried.
Speech? That’s another story. It’s the most important one to
me, actually, and the most elusive—a big part of the Process. Miraculously I
heard speech today, right away. Not all CI users report that in the first hour.
“Speech” is a relative term here. I was prepared for munchkins, Charlie Brown’s
grown ups (wah wah wah wah wah), Mickey Mouse or Donald Duck. What I got was a cross between soprano robots
and chipmunks. My journey, my way,
remember… (Maybe I will draw those chipmunks, in fact… as it was suggested I
draw the sounds I hear.) My audi had
this cute little page where one points to the words one hears to discern one’s
listening comprehension. She hid her mouth (no lip-reading allowed as we hard
of hearing folks are GOOD at lip-reading!!) and said some words and I was to
point to them on her cute little page if I could tell what she said. I heard
words and I pointed to the correct images! But, describing the moment, I was
too near tears to declare with glee “dang, I’m good!” She was visibly surprised at my ability to
recognize any words. That bodes well.
The rest of the immediate journey goes like this:
1) Figure out how to attach the processor and ear thingy
(likely it has a more official name.) Today it seems more like a poisonous bug,
or a young raptor ready to bite me at any moment… I do not want to touch it,
remove it, or explore it. It’s plastic, truth be told--$8,000 worth of plastic
and computer parts. But, I need to go
slowly. The thing is magnetized to my head, which on the initial attaching hurt
more than a little, so my audi downgraded the magnet strength. Gosh, they’ve
thought of everything! I’m a two. That made it more comfortable, though that
part of my ear and head are still sore from surgery, so I’m bound to not want
to mess with the thing much.
2) Upgrade the program on my CI every two days until I see
her again next week for more ‘mapping,’ as the programming of a CI is called.
With every program upgrade come new echoes, more tunnel sounds, snake-like
hissing with every ‘s’ sound and no doubt, more trampoline antics. I can’t wait. (That would be sarcastic…)
3) Be willing to actually show up for Mapping #2. I may have
to ask my chauffeur, who was warmly willing to let me lean on him with my weak
knees after today’s session, to make sure I go at the appointed time. Today’s
not so fun experience and what these ‘program upgrades’ are supposed to offer
me doesn’t make me real eager for next week’s visit. It’s a Process. It’s a Process. It’s a Process.
Finally, at the end of the strange electronic tunnel, I have
been able to hear not only myself peeing, but the car turn signal, my computer
keyboard and running water in the kitchen sink. Stay tuned…
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